


Entier

by Omnibee13



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Freeform, Introspection, Kisses, M/M, Quiet Atmosphere, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibee13/pseuds/Omnibee13
Summary: .. Because just then, in their quiet moment, when it was just the pair of them, a certain undeniable force seemed to exist, and two souls – broken, in places, chipped and scratched, wounded and weeping – were for a change whole.
Relationships: Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	Entier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fugeoni666](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Fugeoni666).



> I've another gift for tumblr user, fugeoni666! Thank you for being a lovely content creator and for letting me know, my work sparks some joy. This is inspired largely from a picture found here: https://fugeoni666.tumblr.com/post/169593525187/i-barely-alive-and-sketch-doodle-us-my-only-way
> 
> Fun fact: Jan 11th is my birthday, and fugeoni666 posted it on Jan 11, 2018. It was a sign and it was meant to be~

In their quieter moments, when it was just the pair of them, a certain undeniable force seemed to exist. For all things that Dante was, Vergil was the complimentary feature. For everything that Vergil desired, Dante offered the answer. This subtle push and pull was unspoken, and often times, unacknowledged. It just was, and it hung between them, in their quieter moments, when it was just the pair of them.. 

Now was one such moment. 

Just the pair of them, nearly silent for a change, and the walls of the shop. As it always did, it started innocently enough. 

Dante had sat, cross-legged on the floor, taken by boredom. The washing machine was hammering away, just off-balance enough to thump rhythmically. He couldn’t sit on the couch; it was taken by another load of clothes. Vergil had walked in on him, like that, and was reminded: Dante had to each himself how to do a great many things. In that way, he had a leg up on his twin. Dante ran a business, paid taxes, kept his own home, did all the menial, little things that came with adulthood, and all without a parent to show him how.

When it was just the pair of them, Vergil allowed these flights of fancy and boredom from Dante. The latter of which had plopped himself on the floor, consumed by idleness and a contented silence, and spun a bottle on its side. First clock wise, then counter clock wise. Back and forth, just giving his hands something to do while the washer thumped, and time ticked by.

Just the pair of them, Vergil sat, cross-legged, across from his brother. 

Dante’s blue eyes did flicker up to meet Vergil’s but only for the briefest of moments. 

Eight years old was a long time ago.. How many times had they fought? That was the answer that seemed immeasurable, but there were other times. It wasn’t _truly_ the only memory. For all the bickering and fighting, there were quiet moments, like these. Contemplative and calm, the weight of their shared existence between them, and little else. They were twins. They had shared a womb, they shared a face, and according to some, a soul. 

Watching the bottle spin, Vergil thought about that. In these quiet moments, he did a lot of thinking. He’d think of the precious few good times and the mountainous bad times. Guilt was a common companion. So was regret. But somewhere, also, like the hope that lingered at the bottom corner of Pandora’s Box, there was also a wistful nostalgia for that simpler time. 

When the bottle slowed and stopped, pointing to Vergil, he almost didn’t register. 

Dante had moved, gotten into his space, much as he did when they were children. Back on sunny, summer afternoons, when Vergil thought himself too old for his twin, too mature, too grown up, eight going on eighteen, and a time that Vergil desperately wished he could have spent longer, wrapped in it, comforted by it.. Still, it was Vergil’s nature to recoil, and he did, leaning back on his hands, fingers curling, head turned away slightly.

“What are you doing?”

“I won.”

Dante’s motivations had always seemed so simple, Vergil sometimes envied him. His life was calm, by comparison, and easy, like a lazy river, whereas Vergil’s was always a tempest. 

“More people should be playing,” he muttered, but didn’t fight it. Why bother? It was just the two of them, and Dante wouldn’t tell anyone. “I didn’t know we were even playing at all.” But wasn’t that always Dante’s way? Even as children, even now..

“There’s no fun when there’s more people,” Dante said, pressing to Vergil’s cheek. Vergil put one hand around Dante’s torso, and held. Between the two of them, there was silence, warmth, and their heartbeats, syncing with an uncanny rhythm that they had known since they were children.

Were they anywhere else, with anyone else, Vergil would have lashed out. He’d have snarled and growled as if a wounded animal, cornered and afraid. But there, with him, his second half, he almost felt as if he could remain this way. 

.. Because just then, in their quiet moment, when it was just the pair of them, a certain undeniable force seemed to exist, and two souls – broken, in places, chipped and scratched, wounded and weeping – were for a change whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of taking a hint from the despair likely wrought from being the lone twin. They say that a twin who loses the other feels a kind of unique agony similar to their own death. I wanted to channel some of that without explicitly saying it.


End file.
